


Fear in the face of war

by TheUnvanquishedZims



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 06:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11892447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUnvanquishedZims/pseuds/TheUnvanquishedZims
Summary: Stream-of-thought thing about being a pureblood witch during the war. Because even cowards get stories.





	Fear in the face of war

I just had a bit of a revelation about how phenomenally scary it would be to be a pureblood witch or wizard in the wizard world when Voldemort was taking over. Because you know he’s evil and killing and torturing but you’re not a fighter and you want to stand up for people but you don’t want to die. That’s really what it comes back to over and over, you don’t want to die. But you can’t support evil. But you don’t wan to die. But you can’t support evil.

And then one day you’re trying to get a bit of shopping done in Diagon Alley and there’s an attack up the street and you stumble through the Leaky Cauldron but there’s lots of people already cowering in there and more shoving in after you and who knows, there could be some Death Eaters or their supporters mixed in just waiting to hear dissent to strike, and you just keep backing away and trying to avoid people’s eyes and you find a door and you slip through and

it’s peaceful

there’s nothing wrong here

no terrified crowds, no mothers frantically clutching their children

there’s a little girl holding her mother’s hand but she doesn’t look scared or alarmed at all, she’s staring at you curiously and she points and her mother hushes her, not out of fear, just a smidge of embarrassment and she shoots you a smile

kids, what can you do

and these

are

muggles.

These are muggles, they’re not scared, they don’t know there’s anything to be scared of.

If you were a great hero you would go back through that door and march down the Alley street and fire every spell you ever learned at the attackers because these are innocent people mother and child so close to the front lines who don’t even know there’s a war, how dare they HOW DARE THEY

Righteous bile would make a terrible last meal

You are no great hero

You are just you

You wander down the streets of muggle London and silently revel in the peace and calm and rhythm of normal life until you need to sit on a bench and cry

A stranger offers you a disposable hanky

You cry and cry over the tiny act of unworried kindness until they pat you awkwardly on the shoulder and leave the rest of the little packet of hankies behind and go back to their life

Their normal ordinary peaceful life

You miss it so much

You are so tired of war

and fear

and desperation in every day, the wireless and the paper and the propaganda that’s so obviously lies but you just want to stop fighting to keep the truth alive in your heart

You miss picking up the paper for the Quidditch scores

You miss tea and biscuits at the cafe

You find a cafe an order some tea and biscuits and pick up a paper from the counter while you’re waiting

FRANCE TRIUMPHS IN WORLD CUP

What

The Cup isn’t this year

Muggles have a Cup?

Your tea is ready

You don’t have pounds or euros

You do have a teary face and a look of exhausted shell-shock, but you don’t find this out until you step out and see yourself in the window’s reflection, steaming cup and biscuits in a bag clutched in your shaking hands, “on the house”

You left them some knuts in the tip jar, the server cheerfully said her nephew collects foreign coins and he’ll be pleased

They think you’re foreign

You look foreign

You are foreign

The paper is still tucked under your arm. You find a seat in the park and read the sport page, making careful note of goals scored. You’re vaguely pleased with a European victory over the Americas, even if it had to be France. You read the arts section, films and albums blurring together with stage plays and books. Nothing you’ve heard of but the tone is familiar, if you squint this piece could be a review of the new Eskarina Frost novel Wands of Warriors, too soppy for the critics but you have it guiltily stacked with the others of the series on your bedside table

The novel is titled Warrior’s Wench

The cover looks soppy

You make a note to buy it

You make a note to buy that dress the woman on the other end of the bench is wearing

Only nicer

she’s pretending she doesn’t see you but you can make out the edge of a sneer

That’s right, you’re foreign

Look at my native country’s robes

and matching green hat

and bag with bats embroidered on it

Gosh, you do stand out a bit don’t you?

You apparate home after a few more hours of window shopping

You want that dress and these boots and those drapes and that house and this kitten to live in it with you

You go home

And then the next day, very carefully, you empty your bank account and broker a deal on your house with the goblins and discuss exchange rates and make a few notes and then, with a purse charmed against theft (your last gift to yourself in this world) you cross over into muggle London, find the cafe again and buy a cup of tea and bag of biscuits (your first gift to yourself in the new world.)

The last bit of magic is spent at the airport

“Somewhere with English-speakers” is your only criteria to the charmed ticket seller who glazes right over your identification

You see a copy of Warrior’s Wench in the gift shop and read it on the flight

You find an apartment, the owner’s policy says no pets but the landlord winks when he has you initial the form. It’s easier to grasp a plastic pen than a fragile quill, you are pleasantly surprised, though vaguely embarrassed when you can’t find the inkwell.

Your new kitten looks happy playing on the robes you pile in the back of the closet. You have new dresses too, shorter than any robes you’ve worn since you were sixteen and flirting with chasers. You don’t understand fashion here and you say as much in the shop. They look at you with mirth but pat your hand and let it slide because you’re foreign.

You’re foreign

It’s easier when you’re foreign

strange and different and pitiable

lost and alone and needing help

disposable hankies

tea and biscuits

a wink and a kitten

muggles are so kind.

You don’t know why you never wanted to be one before.


End file.
